


Say Nothing At All

by Detroitbydark



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Don’t like, F/M, Hybrid show/comics, Taboo Relationships, don’t read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detroitbydark/pseuds/Detroitbydark
Summary: There’s oceans of words between them but they never leave port.





	Say Nothing At All

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a stand alone or as a companion piece to Go On, Say It. I like to think of it as a companion piece myself.
> 
> This is HEAVILY influenced by the comic.
> 
> I’d like to thank everyone who commented on Go On, Say It. It was wonderful to read all your great comments and really encouraged me to finish this though I still feel a little ehh about it.
> 
> Also, what are we calling this ship? WhiteKraken? Vango? I’m at a loss.

Ten years old.

Her hands gingerly push the door in. The dull hallway light spills across the floor as ancient hinges squeal in protest.Every night she does this she worries it’ll be the last, she’ll be shamed back to her bed to deal with her nightmares alone. 

She hears a gentle exhalation and than watches as the covers are raised. A hand pats the empty space as the boy in said bed moves over.

Vanya’s barefeet pad quietly across the floor and she slides under the raised cover, afraid that to long a delay would have Diego changing his mind. He’s the only one she comes to when the nightmares haunt her.

Allison requires her  _beauty sleep_

Klaus has too many nightmares of his own for her to feel comfortable laying hers out for him as well.

Diego doesn’t judge her as she snuggles against him, her head tucking under his chin and her body curling into his. he throws an arm over her and mutters something sleepy and unintelligible into the crown of her head.

Sleep comes quickly and the dreams are held at bay. In the morning she wakes with slightly sour morning breath tickling her check. She extracts herself from the bed and the situation.

They don’t talk about it.

 

12 years old

She stares at the sandwich, peanut butter and little baby marshmallows, as if her sheer will alone will bring Five back home. It’s been two years, forty loaves of bread, 30 jars of peanut butter and untold piles of mini marshmallows.

She wakes up each morning to get rid of the evidence before her siblings wake up. She’s sick of their looks; Ben’s sad eyes, Luther’s disapproval, Allison’s pity.

It was more than Vanya can take but not enough to make her stop. He’d be hungry when he got home.

She hears him before she sees him. Diego doesn’t like scaring her. He inhales a deep breath when he sees the plate sitting in front of her at the table. Her chin dips and her hair forms a curtain around her face. She can’t look at him, not directly.

He makes no move to sit but goes to the fridge and pours two glasses of milk. She watches him through her veil of plain brown hair. He leaves the milk carton on the counter and comes to sit across from her.

The glasses are placed on the table. When she dares to look up she’s met with the unquestionable watery shimmer in Diego’s eyes.

“Me too.” He says after a moment. 

A knife comes into view (because Diego is Diego and the thought of him without a blade is foreign) and the sandwich is sliced neatly in two (not rectangles but triangles because that’s how Five liked his sandwiches cut). He holds a half out, shaking it as if to tempt her into taking it. She does after a moment.

They eat in silence, bites of sweet, sticky sandwich washed down with cold milk. She’s never been much for the particular concoction (she doesn’t like the way it sticks to her teeth) but she finds a small weight lifted off her shoulders. They go to bed soon after.

She doesn’t lose hope but she doesn’t make sandwiches any more.

They don’t talk about it.

 

14 years old.

They’re laying on her bed. Vanya has her legs on the wall, her feet planted above the headboard. Diego’s are draped over the foot of the bed. He’s got a comic book in his hands and she’s got Tolstoy. Their shoulders bump together and his headphones lay between the two of them. An LP from a local band blares distorted lyrics. It’s easy to pretend they’re normal at times like this.

“Did you see the neck...the n...necklace Allison’s wearing?”

The stutter catches Vanya’s attention and she lays her book across her chest, turning slightly to look at him. His eyes never leave his comic.

She shrugs, her shoulder nudges him with the movement but he doesn’t look. “From Luther?” She cringes slightly, “Yeah, not really my thing.” There’s quiet from Diego and after a moment she goes back to her book.

“So what is your  _ thing _ ?” He asks as one song bleeds into the next. The singers vocals are raw and angry. She really digs that.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs again unsure about the whole conversation, “I guess I would just rather hangout with whoever. Just chill, ya know?”

She wonders if he does because he doesn’t say anything. When she looks over again he’s trying to hide a smile behind whatever issue he’s reading.

They don’t talk about it.

 

16 years old.

The cold January air hits her full force as the stage door slams behind her. She doesn’t care. The Prime-8’s just finished their first show and Vanya is walking on air. The ground could fall apart beneath her feet and she still wouldn’t care.

She was pitchy, Diego got lost and missed five bars of the second song, and Body’s drums overwhelmed them most of the time but she doesn’t give a rat’s ass. She sang (screamed her heart out). She let all the anger and anxiety she’s been feeling bleed out on the stage and now there was nothing left inside her but a lightness.

The door opens and closes again and there’s Diego, left eye with the beginnings of a hell of a shiner after  _ adjusting ( _ his word not hers) someone’s attitude. He’s grinning from one dumb ear to the other and she’s returning it.

And than...

And than her back is against the damp brick and (she’d claim to have felt the cold of it but she can't) Diego’s lips are pressed against hers. She’s frozen for a moment and just as she feels him begin to pull away she responds in kind. Her lips part slightly, unsure and hesitant as her tongue traces the seam of his mouth.

What a revelation it is. Allison never explained it like this. The way her sister explained a first kiss was nothing like what she was experiencing now.

The world feels like a shimmer around them and to hell with the brick scratching the back of her neck. Diego’s thumbs are pressing bruises into her hips and she’s got her hands like a vice grip along his jaw.

The door slams shut and Diego jumps back, startled. Vanya feels her face burn red, like a child caught doing something wrong. It’s just a bar back taking out some trash.

She shivers slightly and Diego drapes his coat around her shoulders as they wait for Body and the van.

They don’t talk about it.

 

18 years old.

He said he was going to be there. 

Promised.

He promised her he’d be there. She lets that word repeat in her head over and over. Let’s the embarrassment of being wrong burn in her gut.

The street lights flash by, one by one. All alone. The cab driver asks which terminal she’s heading to. The one way ticket Dad (or is it The Monocle. Fuck. She doesn’t even know what to call him.) gave her to Paris feels like a punishment. It is though, isn’t it?

Diego was supposed to be at the show.  _ They _ were supposed to be climbing into Body’s beat up old van and getting the hell away from Dodge. Together.

The radio continues to blare the Umbrella Academy’s exploits. Kraken saved the day. He didn’t have time for a punk rock show. He didn’t have time for her.

The cabbie eyes her through the rear view mirror.

“Umbrella Academy does it again, ehh?” He asks conversationally.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I legit figured out how much bread and peanut butter a person would go through in a two year period of one we’re to make a single pb and marshmallow sandwich a day. I’m not sure what I’m doing with my life.
> 
> Also, I’m on tumblr under the same name. Come find me, pick my brain, give me a prompt. I won’t bite. Promise.


End file.
